


Spice

by FrenchCaresse



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sibling Incest, Unresolved Sexual Tension, corsets, cross-dressing, trickery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:19:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9615710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchCaresse/pseuds/FrenchCaresse
Summary: "At Sidonie's urgings, Imriel undoes his laces.I try to breathe.I think I might cry.He is impossibly beautiful; Gods do I yearn for more.I lust, yet my mind twists on itself like a snake in agony. I do not want to have him like this, steeped in trickery and lies."Mavros attends a party as a woman. Imriel takes notice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Dark and tortured interaction with a lot of unsatisfied tension. Angst of the best kind; ultimately, love and lessons learned. Gosh, I love these two together. Hint of Dark-Sidonie.
> 
> Double warning for incest; brother-sister and cousin incest both.

It began, like so many other things in my life, with a gambit.

One that I lost spectacularly.

I am quite certain my sister was aware of the fact the Baronness only ever took female lovers when she goaded me into bragging of how I would have her warming my pillow by the end of the night.

She didn't, although the challenge of  seduction was almost enough to make up for it. She was a quick-witted Lady, with a surprisingly sharp tongue, and my evening was filled with laughter. It was one of the first spring nights that was warm enough to smell of summer and we were all giddy with it.

Anyhow, I ended the night alone while the Baronness retreated with her lady-in-waiting. My sister's laughing promise and gentle touch on my arm did not trouble my dreams.

...

Morning after, sober, I still did not realize the depth of my peril. 

It seemed a harmless prank; dress as a woman and attend a party selected by Roshana.

My pride might suffer somewhat, but I had given my word. And it was not as though the Court had never seen me do all manner of silliness after losing a bet. I was quite proud of my antics, especially since the Halls had grown so calm in the years following Imriel and Sidonie's wedding. 

The summer court needed intrigue and spice, and I provided it often as not. My reputation was carefully cultivated and well earned.

I was contemplating a visit to Valerian, last night's tension still brewing unsatisfied low in my belly, when my sister sent a summons.

Elua, but she was quick.

Well. The pretty duo of adepts I'd been considering would have to wait it seemed.

Tossing my braids, I set off just after lunch with my black cape flaring.

...

Roshana is as devastatingly beautiful as I, and not impressed by my confident gait.

In actuality, she rolled her eyes at me.

Sisters.

Twas her loss, really.

She had determined that a small party, where we were invited to discover some exotic spice by the Comtesse Octavie, was where I would make my debut as a woman.

Tonight.

I sighed dramatically, preparing to be stuffed in an ill-fitting gown and drink my pride away.

My sister, however, had a different view. She meant to make a proper Lady of me, and that meant that the first step was to unbraid my hair.

I protested for form, but I had lost fairly. Roshana's shapely brows were drawn tight with a look I knew too well. _Shahrizai_   _stubborness_. I did not want to ruin the lovely day with a useless clash and acceded to my sister's  wishes with a grand bow.

She had us relocate to the terasse and I have to admit, it was quite lovely. The wind played over my skin like a warm caress that tasted of green things and soil, a promise of summer. The flagstones were cold, but Roshana arranged an abundance of pillows and quilts beneath us, sitting herself on a white marble bench and ordering me to settle at her feet. 

T'was a familiar activity, though one we hadn't shared in years, and I relaxed into it. Her nimble fingers began to play in my hair, and a tension I did not even know I carried eased.

My shoulders unwound and my mind idly floated as she began to leisurely unplait my braids.

Her legs were warm against my back, and my beads clinked as she dropped them into a pewter mug by her side.

It was slow going, my hair long and my braids tight. I daresay Roshana was, mayhap not exactly drawing things out, but most certainly not being as efficient as she might have. She took her time; luxuriously massaging my scalp, carding her fingers through my hair as she loosened it and just generally giving me pleasant shivers.

"I missed this." she whispered.

I hummed in reply, bowing my neck. I had missed the intimacy too.

With the slow ooze of idle seconds, my mind inevitably turned to matters of sex. I bit my lip and spread my legs wider, lacing my hands together over my knees as my manhood twitched. I knew better than to touch myself in this circumstance. This was an exercise designed to teach Sharizai males patience and respect for the Ladies, and I was no green boy.

I indulged fully, allowing half-formed fantasies to flitter through my mind and slumping boneless despite the ache growing in my groin. 

Roshana's fingers suddenly tightened; she jolted me straight from lust-filled clouds.

"You may adjust yourself. Once." She relented; I could hear the satisfied smirk in her voice.

I did as told, getting laughed at when it proved to be considerable trouble. Being well-endowed and hard down one's breeches is a situation that requires considerable contortion and prodding to extract oneself from. Roshana giggled through it all but I suffered the indignity gladly. To maintain pride in this moment would mean terrible physical discomfort later. Believe me, I know.

Finally situated in such a way that was bearable, I leaned back into my sister with a shaky groan. I flexed my fingers, trying to shake the urge to return them to my shaft. And this was just the start. _Now_ the real tease would begin.

I twisted to glance at the mug. Damn, barely a third full.

Peeking through my eyelashes, I observed the mark of desire on my sister's face.

"I would kiss you?"  I husked, with rather more urgency than I had planned.

Something flared in the purple depths of her eyes, but she ignored it.

"Behave." Was all she said, bopping me on the nose.

It grew worse then. Elua.

My senses heightened, making me hyperaware of the silk against my back and the constriction of my clothing. I could have dissipated the arousal somewhat, if I'd truly wished it, but I didn't. We gloried in it, my sister and I; reveled in tension cresting so acute I stopped breathing.

I had forgotten this, grown complacent in my indulgence of my desires; today I soared on the rush of drowning in need and denying myself.

By the time the braids down my back were unwound into rather crunchy curls, I was trembling with strain.

It ached. My manhood pounded, my heart raced and every muscle in my body was wound tight.

Roshana had me turn to her for the last bit. What she saw on my face had her gasping; pride that I had cracked her indifferent shell almost balanced the agony I was inflicting on myself. 

Her plump lips parted and I could see a vein throb at her slender neck. I held perfectly still.

 _Yes_.

Roshana gathered herself, shaking her head wryly.

"Namaah's tits, Mavros." She laughed. "You almost had me." 

"Please." I gasped fervently.

She laughed, low and evil, straight down my spine.

Then her hands picked up my hair and the beads fell clinking into the mug.

My bangs was done considerably faster than the rest, confirming my earlier suspicions.

"There. All done." Roshana proclaimed.

I rested my hand on her thigh, feeling her involuntary movement at the touch.

"My thanks." I said, voice too deep, not even caring to hide my desire. 

"Off to the bath with you!" Roshana proclaimed, swatting my backside. 

Oh well. Twas worth a try.

I shrugged, then threw her a rakish grin. My sister knew me too well to fall for such easy games.

It had been unexpectedly thrilling, though useless; it seemed I would not sleep my way out of being mocked as a woman.

And now my body protested the lack of release, poor thing.

I expelled a long breath, clearing my head.

Twas to be a long day.

...

A plump chambermaid was dumping a final pail-full into the steaming tub in my rooms when I arrived. A kit of straight-blades and a greasy lump of soap were lined up on a small table close by.

Damn. It would not to be a relaxing soak then.

I gave myself a few strokes when I bobbed free in the steamy air anyway. The maiden's ears turned bright red and _ooooh_ , the naughty things that filled my mind at such innocence. 

But my sister was watching, probably, or she would be. So I behaved and sank into the water, savoring a few moments of peace until we began shaving me.

Shaving was horrible.

I am not a hairy man, but it seemed I must be smooth everywhere. The blades traced my legs, my arms, _underneath_ my arms, and over my chest. 

It took forever. The cold press of the straight-razor was strange and carried enough of a thrill of danger that shocks skittered beneath my skin. 

The water grew cold and disgusting, little curling hairs clinging everywhere.

I was soon frustrated; not in the pleasant way of patient games of love, but jagged jittery spasms in my bloodstream that made me want to speak harshly to the maid. I clenched my jaw, gripping the edge of the tub. My wet hair clung to my shoulders and my skin felt too small, stretched over boiling red impatience. 

I made myself hold my tongue because the young thing doing her best to obey my sister was not at fault. If only Roshana had shown her face then; oh, how glorious the shouting match would have been!

Finally, finally, finally, it was over and I was standing shivering as pails of lukewarm water were dumped on my head to sluice off residual dark hairs.

I burrowed into the towel when I was finally freed; I hid my face in fragrant fabric then wrapped it around me like an armor. My bare feet slapped on the cold floor as I sullenly tracked through back corridors to my sister's room in my under-things.

Roshana was on the bed, leisurely engaged in kissing games with a freckled lady-in-waiting. Of course. 

I scowled.

Roshana glanced at my bedraggled form, huddled in the giant towel. 

"Oh." She breathed, face alight with sympathy, rushing to me.

"That bad?" She asked.

I did not answer, closing my eyes to lean against her touch on the side of my cheek.

I was losing patience with these games, truly. Roshana forced me to look at her. The pride and love in her eyes mollified me somewhat.

"Thank you." She praised. The wet press of her lips to mine finished melting my anger away.

...

It took another hour for me to be turned into a proper Lady, but the mood had shifted. Sparkling cider was served, along with fruit and honey-cakes. I was draped in a lovely soft shift while my sister and her maids tugged my hair into an elaborate up-do. I goggled at generous cleavage as they filed and painted my finger-nails a soft pearlescent pink. I accidentally-on-purpose brushed my hands over soft flesh as a rich blue gown with black trim settled heavy on my shoulders. I groped at a flirty buttock and was laughingly chastised; giggles filled the air as my face was expertly painted. 

The final lacing of the corset was done, _of course,_ by my sister and she showed no mercy. The stiffness forced my back straight and boning dug into my hips; I was uncomfortable but at the same time there was somewhat comforting about being restrained.

My long heavy skirts were placed just so as I stood; a final curl was tucked away with a pearl hair-pin. There were excited whispers and someone's hands clapped as a gilded mirror was rolled in.

Silence fell as I observed their work.

Me. Yet... not me. My lean form was graceful, my skin milky and luminescent. The corset hinted at feminine curves I did not really have. A delicate worked-gold necklace hugged a lean throat. I fingered it with foreign hands, unused to the rounded curve of my nails. My face, for the amount of work that had gone into it, looked surprisingly natural. My lips were pink and plump, my eyes somehow bigger than usual. A hint of dangling earrings peaked through my soft hair, replacing my usual gold hoops.

I looked... delightful. Attractive. My dress was almost demure but I suppose some of my usual personality shone through because I looked confident and dashing. If I had seen someone like myself in a salon, I would have lathered on the charm. 

It was troubling, because my reflection in the mirror, though pretty, was... not me.

Some part of me was deeply unsettled by the disconnect and I frowned, a little dizzy.

Then Roshana was there, pressed against my back reassuringly. Her pointed chin rested on my shoulder and her hand splayed on my belly. I could not feel it, through the stiff fabric of the corset.

"Beautiful." She whispered, nuzzling my neck.

I shuddered, still troubled.

She turned me to face her, and my view narrowed to her serious look. Roshana knew me well.

"Do you wish to plead mercy?" She asked softly. And there was no doubt in my mind that she would stop the charade if I did.

I hesitated. She had worked so hard, and the result was truly spectacular. 

Stamping down the unease, I hardened my resolve.

"No." I swallowed, pulling a mask of carefree amusement tighter over my painted face.

"Let us see how many knights and ladies will proposition me before the night is over."

My sister laughed gleefully and her pride warmed me, almost erasing a dark twist of foreboding.

...

It turned out that I could get _all_ the Lords and Ladies to do my bidding. 

The dinner party we went to was a small affair, mayhap fifteen courtesans or so. Nerves thrilled delightfully through my body.

Candlelight glittered off mirrored sconces and crystal wine goblets threw dancing lights. Everyone was in a merry mood, conversation lively and laughter easy. 

The arrival of a new-come Shahrizai cousin sparked the interest of the assembled Houses; I could practically see the ripple of curiosity at our appearance. My sister and I had agreed upon Mavroshanda as a name.That way, should she call me by my actual name, t'would merely seem a fitting nickname.

We made the rounds, and I was giddy with the rush of all those eyes upon me. It was good self-awareness training; I kept my movements gentle and my voice soft. I experimented with various head tilts and giggles as I was greeted with interest.

It was a thrill to fool everyone, and not as hard as I was wont to have imagined, playing the lady. My sister beamed beside me.

I had warmed to the masquerade by the time we were seated in plush velvet chairs at the long table. Roshana was to my right, a mustachio'd Lieutenant  to my left. The two sisters opposite me were witty and much fun, as I already knew even if my female persona didn't. I readied myself for a lovely time, feeling ridiculous for my earlier unease.

That was when the Gods decided to piss on my pride.

I did not notice the opening of the door, only the sudden hush that fell. A burning prickly feeling filled me; I lifted my gaze to see that Imriel and Sidonie had arrived. Resplendent and graceful, the Royal couple smiled at the assembled society. There was much rustling fabric and scraping of chairs as we all rose to bow and curtsy.

Imriel's twilight eyes locked on me. My heart pounded in response and my curtsy was even more clumsy than it should have been, caught in that piercing stare. I stared down at my plate, feeling connection draw tight between us.

The moment passed as we were seated and soup was served. I turned to the gentleman by me, aware of the hotness of my cheeks. Imriel continued to watch me for a moment, I knew so without returning his look. My skin itched with awareness; I could tell when he released me to bend laughing to Sidonie by the uncoiling of tension in my lungs.

Small mercy, I was seated quite far from the head of table. Dinner was nice; the fowl was well seasoned and the wine rich. My company was pleasant and slighty seductive. I would have relaxed thoroughly into my feminine role, were it not for Imriel's intermittent observation of me. 

We were wired together, it seemed. When my stomach grew tight and my breath shortened with the thrill of danger, I would raise my eyes to find Imriel watching me. Once, he raised his cup in a silent toast and his recognition made me drop my fork with a clatter. Imriel smirked and my sister arched an eyebrow.

I shook my head at her. I was not about to admit that being caught in my cousin's intense focus made me shake with attraction. 

I have obviously experienced the jab of lust towards my dark Prince before. Yet such horrors lie within his childhood that I understand why he refuses to consider bedding men. And I respect his position; whenever a ripple of interest manifests, I immediately diffuse it and turn my thoughts away. 

Tis different tonight.

Tonight, as a woman, not only am I pulled towards Imriel; the attraction is shared. He is nurturing it, I would say, biding his time and enjoying flustering me. Toying with me much more expertly than I would have thought him capable of, frankly.

Bollocks.

It is a complication I had not anticipated, and one that will require deft maneuvering to get out of.

Dinner progresses to digestives in the salon and still I manage to evade Imriel. Or rather, he lets me get away. His intensity burns between my shoulder-blades and I am a mess of anticipation. Gods.

The exotic spice we are to be introduced to is produced in a golden box, circulated amongst the company before it is lit. I happen to be watching Imri when he sniffs it; he jerks and his face shutters. My pulse thuds with a sound like Kushiel's wings when he laughs unnaturally and passes the box to Sidonie.

Imriel knows the herb. His face is deathly pale and I can see reflected terrors of the slave-hold flitter through his ice-blue eyes. He is good at dissembling though, and I doubt anyone but myself and Sidonie notice his clenched jaw and ram-rod straight back. 

Then there is a gentle hand on my wrist, asking questions about my bracelet as an excuse to touch and I turn away with a sick feeling in my middle.

The gold box is heavy in my hands when it reaches me. The spice smells strange, rather grassy but with an undertone of musk. I stifle a sneeze. 

The substance creates drifting purple smoke when tossed onto the brazier. 

The mood shifts.

It grows langorous, intimate. Men posture, laughing too loud, and women simper. Every touch is multiplied ten-fold, butterfly wings caressing. A luth begins to play, notes trailing in the smoky air.

Unease returns within me. I find it harder to remember to act the Lady.

I crave... more. My Shahrizai instincts stir, my earlier unsatisfied desires coiled like a snake in my pelvis. I clench my hand hard, feeling my fingernails dig into my palm. It is not enough.

I want.

I want to draw blood.

I want to slap a pretty Lady and watch her bottom jiggle beneath my palm.

I want violence and passion. Couples are kissing on the couches; a man has his breeches at his knees by the corner of a wall, his partner's cries reedy and goat-like.

I want...

The corset restrains my breathing and my head is over-large and stuffed with cotton. 

Suddenly, I can bear no more. My sister makes to follow me as I stumble to the balcony doors. I shake my head and she falls back to the pretty pair fawning over her.

Troubled, I burst outside and drag crisp night air in.

Elua, but I need Valerian this night; my gift is unexplicably fully unfurled in my chest, batting at my ribs to escape. The balcony is small and I soon reach the edge, staring at the cold pricks of stars on infinite blackness as my thudding heart slowly calms.

Goose-flesh eventually prickles over my bare arms; the bite of spring is still on the wind. Finally, I am clear-headed enough to feel almost like myself. I formulate a plan; I shall call for a carriage and have myself taken to Mont Nuit. There, I will be free to deal with the urges the smoke has liberated. I can contain myself for a short while, I determine.

I turn in a whisper of silk to head back inside.

"Are you well, my Lady?"

My blood freezes while lust ROARS.

Damn.

Imriel, tall and dark, is leaning against the wall by the golden square of the terrace door.

I squeal, the high-pitched noise not at all faked. My heart-beat is racing a-flutter in my throat.

Imri approaches me.  

Calmly.

In fact, he stalks me as I stumble back, nowhere to go on the small balcony.

Connection pulls tighter. Kushiel's bells ring in my ears. Imriel has me cornered against the railing, I can feel cold metal pressing into my back.

His face is intense, his eyes ablaze with want.

An echo of how I feel.

I gulp. 

Imriel wants me. I need him back.

No.

This is _Imriel_. He does not know me for who I am.

Imriel does not want _me_. He would never...

Imriel wants the sham at a Lady I am pretending to be.

It hurts. Elua, it hurts much more than I would have thought it might.

I would give myself to Imri if he truly wanted me, no holds barred. I know he doesn't. My disappointment tastes metallic and sharp.

Imriel is speaking; soothing nothings I can't understand for the clanging in my head. Kushiel's legacy beats at me.

It is wrong, it is all _so_ wrong.

I force myself to remain still. Imriel presses closer. I can feel his breath on my face.

Elua, I want, but I _can't_. I shouldn't. It is not fair to Imri.

_It might be my only chance, ever, to touch him like a lover._

I am wrestling with my conscience when Imriel gently traces my collarbone.

His hand is ice; he must have been out here even longer than I.

I shiver violently, feeling his hungry eyes burn my lips before he wraps strong arms around me. A little noise gets caught in my throat, and then we are kissing. He means to be gentle, I can tell, but Imriel is just as caught as I am in this web of desire. His mouth opens and his tongue delves between my slack lips. I moan helplessly, tilting my head.

Elua, it is good.

Imriel is a divine kisser, confident and ardent. He nips at the corner of my lips and heads towards my ear, tearing another gasp from me. Kushiel's wings throb in the air around us.

No, no.

No!

This is _Imriel_ I am decieving. If he knew me as Mavros he would push me away, mayhap punch me. I would let him. I would gladly throw myself at his feet to be flogged.

My morals rebel against the deceit and I try to fight the sensations drowning me. I must not give in, I must find the strength to stop.

Imriel reacts to the challenge by trying to make me lose my head; his lips are gentle and bruising in turn, sucking a mark into my neck that makes my phallus _pound_ between my legs. I clutch at him, unable to breathe for the corset and the lust.

When Imriel pulls back, his usually cold face is transformed by desire. He is beautiful, my cousin, with his eyes smoldering and his breaths harsh.

I should stop him. _I can't_.

It is all I can do to tremble and be still.

"My Lady..." he begins, voice cracking as his long fingers trace down my chest to the neckline of my gown.

My heart sinks. I steel myself; I am going to tell him the truth.

Something snaps in his control and he steps forward before I can speak, crowding me against the banister. My words curl and die on my tongue as he grabs my skull with both hands and kisses me properly. Need flares, acute and obliterating. Elua. My knees go weak with it.

Imriel groans, tongue lashing with mine as I respond without thinking. Kushiel's Gift wavers around us; I can almost see the air vibrate with it's intensity.

Imri presses a knee into my skirts, grinding his arousal possessively against my thigh. I moan. There is a popping sound in my ears.

I manage to turn away, gasp " Sidonie."

"Will understand." He growls at the juncture of my jaw, and I know tis the truth. My cousin never lets himself loose like this, ever. Even when I drag him to Valerian, he is prudent. Not tonight though. Perhaps tis the lingering dust of the smoke in our blood, or perhaps it is the Gods laughing at my impertinence.

Tonight, for the first time, I behold Imriel unleashed and it is breath-taking.

And wrong. So _so_ wrong.

My manhood is unsatisfied, aching congestion low in my belly. 

Imriel's hands are tugging the laces of my corset; he will discover the truth and panic gives me the strength to slip beneath his arm and take a step away.

He looms over me, pretty face marked with intensity, and I groan. My resolve wavers. I want him so badly I can not think.

"Imri." I whisper, taking another step backwards.

I need to get away, panic in my heart setting fire to my already burning nerves.

A hand at my back, fine-boned but strong, stops me. I am suddenly surrounded by flowery fragrance and gold fabric.

Sidonie.

I squeak again, adrenaline robbing me of my senses.

"Oh no." Sidonie purrs. I am sure she can feel me tremble.

"Please continue." She urges.

Her eyes, when I dare to look in the moonlight, are hard in her oval face. Dark, dark Cruithne eyes, glittering mean and seeing too much.

I swallow thickly.

She knows. And she holds the strings in this game.

At Sidonie's urgings, Imriel undoes his laces.

I try to breathe.

I think I might cry.

He is impossibly beautiful; Gods do I yearn for more.

I lust, yet my mind twists on itself like a snake in agony. I do not want to have him like this, steeped in trickery and lies.

Imriel has been betrayed too often, I shan't break his trust like this.

Sidonie is urging me on, seductive whispers that grate. Imriel's organ bobs in the cold night, but it is his gentle touch on my cheek that undoes me.

"Please." He asks simply.

How can I deny him? I have never been able to refuse him anything, my brooding cousin.

I fall to my knees between his parted legs, in an uncoordinated slump that is not at all graceful or ladylike. 

Elua, he is tall. I look up in a daze, wrapping my pink-nailed fingers around his length.

As in a dream, I begin the languisement.

Imriel jerks, full-bodied helpless reaction, and his head falls back. He wraps both hands tight around the banister behind him, hips canting. Shahrizai chafe at remaining passive; keeping his hands safely away is a trick to restrain Kushiel's urges. Elua knows I have used it often enough myself to know!

I suckle, finding confidence and taking him deeper.

Imriel's groans find their way into my chest; each one explodes into a spiky flower of pain.

Wrong,  _wrong_ , so wrong. I double my efforts, making my Prince grunt and his phallus jerk. His fingers are in my hair, tugging pins out and freeing curls one by one. It is deliberate, methodical; another distraction to focus his attention upon. I am not surprised at how well he bears the strain. I am, however, surprised by the intensity of the shimmering violence I feel radiating from Imriel. He hides it so well, usually, that I had believed him to be less susceptible to his heritage.

I was wrong. Elua, I was so so wrong.

I ache, my phallus dragging unattended in my heavy skirts. I ache even more in my heart. Imriel rocks his hips a bit, watching me work with through his thick lashes. A pretty lady on her knees before him in the cold moonlight; I must look a sight!

If only he knew! Passion twines with vile disgust in my lungs. I should stop, I _need_ to stop this farce but my own need to savor every forbidden contact with my cousin is overwhelming my decency.

Kushiel's wings beat at my soul and I choke myself on his meat, making him curse. I want him to spend, need him to be undone and it is so wrong, I can barely stand myself.

I redouble my efforts, frantic to make him feel good even as my dizziness grows and my wits implode, guilt destroying me.

Imriel pulls out, rod shiny and hips twisting in tiny thoughtless pulses.

"Hey, hey." Imriel soothes. He squashes a fat tear beneath his thumb; I suppose I am crying after all.

"It's alright." He comforts, gentle-voiced despite his tight jaw and his tense eyebrows. He smiles through the urgency, a gorgeous radiating shimmer of love that makes his eyes melt.

I think I might sick-up.

I shake my bowed head, feeling long strands of hair trailing at my nape. My tongue feels thick and I am choking with sobs.

No. No. Tis not alright, NOTHING is right. My beautiful innocent cousin does not know the darkness of my deception.

I find myself whispering it; "No, no, no, no."

I stumble to my feet,  stepping on my blasted dress and flee stumbling back towards the golden candlelight.

I am bursting into pieces.

It is wrong, it is all wrong.

Imri, me, Sidonie.

Wrong.

The Queen's triumphant gaze as she closes on her aroused husband scores deep into my heart.

...

I must look a sight, baffled and disheveled, hovering in the doorway, because Roshana appears within seconds.

I shake in a daze, hardly aware of being taken to the carriage. I curl up on the hard seat, hindered by my corset. I grit my teeth as every jar and jolt sends friction to my ignored manhood. I take perverse pleasure in the pain, nauseous with self-disgust.

"What happened?" Roshana asks after a while.

"Imriel." I answer over the creaking hinges.

I rest my weary head on my knees and my sister does not speak anymore.

She is worried, rightly so I suppose. She takes me to her rooms; I stand passive while she takes away all trace of her frivolous efforts. There is a frown-line between her eyebrows when I remain a statue when she is done, shivering in the white shift with delicate lace at the square neckline.

She feels guilty, I know, but I can not raise myself from the brooding mood enough to reassure her. I am drowning in darkness.

"What do you need?" She asks at length.

Her gentle touch on my arm makes my unsatisfied phallus throb fiercely and suddenly I know.

"Pain." I plead. "Pain."

It hurts so badly inside, tonight I want to hurt just as much on the outside. Tis not an urge I have ever felt, but at the moment I am desperate and I can't _think_. I do not properly understand my own self, but my sister is Kushiel's scion and she sees deep.

She has me bend over and grip the solid footboard of her bed. In a deft move I will have to ask her about later, suddenly the shift is up and twisted, somehow caught in it's own folds high on my back.

Air whispers over my exposed buttock, sending a rash of goose-flesh. I am thankful for the loose fabric of the garment hanging down my front; it hides my erect depravity from my burning eyes. 

I tighten my fists around solid pine as my body surges unsatisfied during Roshana's preparation. I refuse to ease the discomfort; it spasms around my hips and down my inner thighs.

"Make it stop." I beg my sister. Wetness is oozing from the tip of my treacherous manhood; I can _feel_ it.

Roshana shushes me and then the paddle strikes; hard regular jars that soon build to a fiery burn. I gasp and wiggle, wanting to lose myself in the punishement.  My sister is a woman, but her hand is firm and merciless. By the time I am panting wetly, buttocks a giant throb, my recalcitrant organ is finally soft.

I sigh in relief, then cry out at the whistle of the cane that streaks fire on my left cheek.

Kushiel's Blood soars through both of us at this second layer pain. For the first time, I experience it as an adept of Valerian must. Tis glorious.

I am babbling incoherent thanks by the time Roshana coaxes me into her bed and blows out the candle.

....

We are woken much too early by my youngest brother, informing us of a fire at my Father's domain. We are leaving the city within the hour. 

My brother frowns at my puffy face, in Roshana's bed to boot, but he does not comment.

The pain in my backside is excruciating as I stiffly splash cold water on my torso. Roshana looks guilty, so I thank her from the bottom of my heart. I brush my teeth and we kiss. All is right between us. I hobble to my room to pack.

The horse-back ride that day is miserable. My welts and bruises flare at every step; even the wide-legged stretch of getting in the saddle makes my breath catch. I would like to say I bear my burden honorably, but I am no Cassiline.

I shut my mouth against complaints, but that is the extent of my valor. I wallow in self-pity and loathing, nauseous with pain that never ends. I am rude to a few people and am quickly left alone in my grey cloud. 

At the inn that night, I bed down on the floor with my brothers. I keep jolting awake from tormented dreams of adult Imriel watching reproachfully as I kidnap his child self. My eyes are gritty with fatigue as we rise in the early hours. My sister redoes a handful of my braids and forces me to break my fast.

The hurt is even worse on the second day, stiffness from yesterday's ride compounding the bruises. I need to be assisted into my saddle, incapable of forcing my aching body to move.

By mid-day, I am flying on the pain.

My mood lightens and my body seems far away; I float _above_ myself, or mayhap I mean  _outside_ myself. I am overly aware of every small detail around me; the smell of leather, the creak of my saddle, the rustling of tender green leaves we pass beneath all fascinate me. And yet I am detached too, beyond caring and miraculously guilt-free.

Roshana clucks at the sight of my blown pupils and my slack face when we halt at another inn for the night. I try to reassure her I am fine, but my words come slow and muddled. I jump at every sound and bite my cheek. My sister takes charge, grumbling of how _mayhap I should visit House Mandrake after all._

I smile beautifically at her.

It is fine. Lovely.

Everything is lovely and her hair is a waterfall of inkiness.

She slaps my hand away and orders me a bath. Despite her irritated monologue, her touch is gentle as she rubs a numbing salve over my purpled buttocks. I am half-hard, shifting leisurely to feel the roughness of the bedcovers against my front. Roshana shushes me and climbs in; I fall into a dreamless black hole while she lightly strokes my brow. 

More of my braids are done the next morning; I am sobered and grave. Roshana teases endlessly, and fondness fills my heart. There is a glimmer of hope in the dark night haunting me. Finally. Tis not my nature to brood and despair.

When I cannot resist placing the corner of my brother's cape under his own chair leg at breakfast, I know it will get better. Mischief has always been my calling. I have done well today. My brother nearly chokes himself when he goes to rise, yanked back by the wool round his neck. He squawks and flails and then topples the chair and half the crockery on the table in a grand clatter. The entire Great-Room roars with laughter. My brother goes beet-red and rounds on me with such a tirade of swearing that he earns himself another round of applause.

I was right.  It does get better after that.

By the time the week's journey is over, my hair is fully braided and my buttocks are an impressive medley of yellow and brown.The ache in my heart lingers, but I lose myself in running the manor until it eventually dims too.

I spend the entire summer away from the City of Elua.

When I return to winter there, I see Imriel occasionnally. The first time I spot him from afar, the surge of guilt is so strong I make a hasty exit. Gradually, my soul hardens to it's burden and I dare approach him. I pretend all is as before, swallowing down the bile at my despicable actions, and Imriel sees nothing. I jest and provoke him into doing fun outtings until he rolls his eyes and acquiesces. I wilfully bury that night deep deep deep; soon it becomes second nature to do so and that much easier to ignore.

I am still on edge around Sidonie, but thankfully our paths do not cross much.

I throw myself into a scandalous dalliance with a pretty Tsingani girl, introducing her to the nobles of the court and causing much gossip.

...

It is in the coldness of January that I force Imriel to accompany me to Valerian.

Sidonie is fat with child, and I have been helplessly watching my cousin wind tighter for months now.

When he speaks too harshly to a table-servant, hands white-knuckled at the storm of tears he causes, I catch the familiar disgust in his eyes.

I bully him into going to the Court of the Night Flowers and Imriel lets me. Some of the tension leaves his spine as the carriage rocks forward and he exhales shakily.

He needs this, Elua he needs this. The tension my king exudes brings me flashes of that night; of Imriel gloriously unleashing his Shahrizai nature.

I swallow and ignore the unease. The ride is silent, my treacherous phallus twitching despite my efforts at disinterest.

"What will it be?" The Dowayne of Valerian asks. 

I shake my head mutely. Tonight is not for me. Imriel ponders the question, biting his lip.

"Watch for now, I think." He says.

The silver-threaded head nods. She knows how Imriel struggles with this. We are seated on a couch while a Showing is hastily organized.

Imriel is unsettled and jittery; my own guilt tightens my stomach. I want to soothe him, to help him feel better. I want him to enjoy this night. Elua. My thoughts are not kindly concern. I want Imriel's organ like velvet steel in my mouth and his cold hands on my body. It is growing impossible for me to keep the memory locked away. I know Imriel would never allow interaction with a man, but the fantasies just will _not_ stop.

"You are nervous." Imri confronts me with one eyebrow raised, extending long long legs in front of him. I purse my lips and stare at his boots.

"You are never this fidgety." He adds, narrowing his crystal blue eyes at me.

Damn.

I stare at the patterned rug. It is true. I can hardly bear to be on the couch next to him. Our knees brush when he folds a leg over the other. I stifle a moan; I can take no more. As the sound of flogging begins before us, I moisten my dry dry mouth. 

"I have a confession to make." I hear myself say.

"As do I." Imriel responds, voice pitched deep; it reminds me of when he was seducing me. 

I dare to look at his face and the same connection as that night sparks, pulls tight. I can't breathe through it, and this time there is no corset to blame.

"When was the last time you were with someone other than Sidonie?" I delay.

I know he is unnaturally monogamous, but it generally works for him. I have a hunch though...

Imriel blinks slowly, and his finger-tips touch my thigh. 

"There was a Lady, in the Spring of last year..." He says.

Bollocks. I had though as much.

There is a flush on Imriel's cheeks and I want to lick it. We both turn to watch a pale back being streaked red for a time. The adept's need glistens all over her thighs and I think I can smell it.

"That." I force the words out, keeping my gaze on the scene.

"That was no Lady. Imri, that was me. I..." Now that I have started, I can't stop the purge. I stammer on, heart pounding.

"I lost a silly bet and I was dressed as woman for dinner. I did not mean to... I didn't think you would... You never..." I falter, voice rough.

 "I should have stopped it. Imri, I should have stopped us, stopped _you;_ it waswrong and deceitful. But you were so beautiful and it was too good and it was my only chance... "

The world has closed in on me. The adepts, the city; everything has narrowed to our red couch and my halting confession.

"Elua, I wanted to stop. You have to believe me, I didn't want to hurt you. But I couldn't make myself do it; I am a weak coward and then Sidonie..."

I trail off, incapable of voicing all the excess emotion.

"I'm sorry." I choke.

I am vibrating with turmoil, and I can't look at my cousin.

Imriel's hand is strong and calloused on my chin, forcing me to raise my head.

I believe I might be sick.

Imriel's face is unreadable. Then, inexplicably, he kisses me; it is hard, bruising, leaving me with a taste of blood.

"You don't have to..." I begin brokenly. 

"My turn." Imriel husks.

He pulls back,  clears his throat. There is a pause while we both fight for balance. It does not help me;  I am still a mess.

"I knew." Imriel says, and the sun must screech to a halt because the earth tilts sideways beneath me.

My head snaps up in shock.

"I knew twas you." Imriel says again, louder. His strong features are harsh. 

His eyes flash to mine. I feel the brush of Kushiel's wings on my soul and ignore it.

"I didn't know, at first." He amends. His hands twist together, betraying his unease.

"When we were kissing, I truly thought you a Lady. But then..."

He trails off and I can see him clamming up. Retreating into himself, behind a wall he builds when he feels he must protect others from himself. I have seen him close off like this before and I am not having it today. If I let him, he will be useless and miserable for days. I react in anger, still reeling with shock.

"What?" I half-shout.

I force a breath through my nose when he winces and the adepts eyes slide to us.

"How?" I add. His long fingers still twist and tug each other, never still even though his face is set in stone.

Impulsively, I grip those nervous hands and clench them in my own.

The contact calms me somewhat, and him too, I think. I refuse to let him retreat into himself and the touch is like a bridge between us.

"When you went to pull away." Imriel explains after a while. His eyes pierce to my core, deep and earnest.

"You, _we_ , were really feeling it. And yet you pulled away." His chest heaves.

"You called me Imri when I pushed for more. There are but a handful who would call me that unthinking, and only one Shahrizai."

He's right, of course he is. I can't remember when I let the nick-name slip, but is seems likely I did. I wasn't thinking by that point, and he is "Imri" in my head more often than he is "My Prince".

"I was going to call you on it." He admits. "But then Sidonie..."

He gulps.

Energy flows between us through our connection, and I cannot stay angry. I desperately want to kiss him. 

Imriel pries his hands from mine. His face reddens with emotion; he is not done, it seems.

"I knew. Mavros!" he erupts. "I knew, and I allowed the masquerade to continue." 

"I watched you." He continues darkly, face savage. "Watched you on your knees before me."

I say nothing. My mind can not grasp the immensity; the fact that Imriel was aware it was me changes _everything_.

"I saw." Imriel's voice is rough. "I saw how you hurt, saw how you struggled. I watched you tear yourself apart with guilt and loathing and desire. Mavros, you pleasured me while I watched through my Birthright how much you _hurt_."

I swallow with difficulty. I do not want to hear more. Imriel continues anyway,

"I saw." Imriel's frantic eyes catch mine and we burn in hell together. He readies himself for the final blow. I brace myself.

"I saw..." Imriel grates.

"I saw and I _enjoyed_ it." He spits bitterly.

He pulls away, leaning forward with his hands gripping his knees. Imriel is shaking with the need to escape. His pain and disgust is painted all over his body. It hurts to watch.

My anger is a weak thing, swallowed in the shadow of Imriel's own self-loathing.

"So." I try to find words. "I."

I shake my head, feeling the ringing connection between us swell again. Kushiel's Gift is clanging in my skull. 

I lay a gentle hand on his fore-arm, startling him into looking at me.

"How are you dealing with it?" The right words come without thought.

His face softens, love shining through, and his eyes abruptly flood with tears.

"Look at you." He says in wonder. "I admit to the worst depravity at your expense... and you worry about me."

"I do." I insist. "I know how much the dark mirror troubles you."

"Elua, what did I do to deserve you?" He wonders, high-pitched and unhinged. He hides his face with his long fingers.

"Mavros, why have you not fled, or screamed, or... or spit on me?"

I shrug.

I pet his hair. It is luscious and thick. The ache in my groin doubles; my patience is wearing thin because of Kushiel's blasted bells that just won't shut up.

"I." Imriel starts, muffled by his hands. He sounds calmer; he curls his back, leaning into my touch.

"I am better." He says after a while. "I went to Kushiel's Temple and had the worst of the guilt flogged out of me."

Of course he would. My throat is filled with sand when I swallow. I know how much those visits cost him. And yet, I understand. I needed much the same, even if it was my sister delivering the punishment.

I continue my petting. 

"I realized something, after." Imriel's head raises, passion alight on his stunning face.

"That night, there was smoke in our blood."

I nod.

"Tis powerful magic." He says. "It... revealed parts of us that have remained hidden otherwise."

I nod again. He is right. 

"Twas not coincidence." Imriel sounds absolutely certain.

I massage his tight shoulders in time to the beat of infernal bronze wings in my chest. Soon, the chaste contact will not satisfy. I am leaking in my pants again. I blink, _forcing_ myself to concentrate on the conversation.

"Kushiel's hand was heavy on us that night." Imriel continues urgently.

I nod seriously. Tis the truth. 

"Our... connection, twas sacred. Even if... Even if we are both men, even if you are family and friend. Twas the lies that felt wrong." Imriel says.

My heart soars. My aching manhood throbs. Kushiel smiles upon us.

Elua, I want to kiss him; my infuriating, _beautiful_ tortured cousin.

"What say you?" He asks after a thick silence.

"Yes." I answer promptly. Imriel jerks. I believe he expected me to argue. But I am not one need deep philosophical meaning. I would much rather trust my gut; it has been proved right countless times.

"Kushiel blessed the union last time." I add, when Imriel seems unconvinced.

I drown in his luminous blue eyes. I inch forward. _More_.

Imriel does not flinch.

"He hovers over us tonight also." I add.

"Can you feel it?" I whisper.

The thrum is constant now, a vibration in my bones that makes me bare my teeth. Imriel's breath catches painfully. I used to think him untouched by this aspect of our shared bloodline. I realize now how wrong I was.

Imriel's arms bulge as he grabs at me. Our foreheads collide and he nods, rasping breath hot on my face.

I am losing myself again; disintegrating in his, _our_ , desire. I can not fight it much longer.

"I am a man." I feel the need to say, even though it is silly. He knows this. He wants me. I still need the reassurance; I could not bear to break him. My words are more question than statement, given Imriel's tortured past.

Imriel licks his lips.

"Yes." He says quietly.

"So am I." He laughs softly.

We are going to kiss, and there will be no restraining ourselves possible afterwards. We are poised at the edge of an avalanche. My lips part without thought; we are sharing breath, the air between us thick as honey. My pulse throbs in my ears.

"I am Shahrizai." Imriel tells me. I know his meaning. He is too far gone tonight to play nice; I remember my sister's paddle and the pain-induced fog the day after.

"Yes." I answer calmly.

"So am I." I add, and tis a promise for later, for other times.

Imriel shudders and his eyes close. I can feel his acceptance.

He wants me.

He shall have me.

Not here though.

I pull away, and it is physically painful. Imriel makes a sound in his nose that nearly undoes me. 

I rise to stand, and after a minute where he remains bowed and tense, Imriel does too. His hand trembles visibly as he rakes his curls back over his shoulders.

I find the Dowayne, hanging back by the curtains.

"Just a room tonight, please." I demand. She nods.

This too, is sacred.

I wonder if she can hear Kushiel's bells still banging around us. Probably.

I follow her slippered steps.

Imriel's hand slips into mine, gripping tight.

Yes.

Elua yes. 

We were both at fault, last time.

Tonight, we make things right.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, no cumshot. The story felt finished here. It is meant to be a one-shot, but I am open to comments or suggestions if you think you know what happens next!
> 
> Xxx
> 
> FrenchCaresse


End file.
